


Most Ungentlemanly

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus Stories [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arguing, Banter, Complicated Relationships, Cultural Differences, Dorian Pavus Has Issues, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, POV The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 13:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20816078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: In the beginning - off the record, you understand - Altus Pavus and the Iron Bull butt heads.





	Most Ungentlemanly

The Vint didn’t like Bull.

It was funny: he put up a show of being snide and funny, of being _friendly_ but to a point – he played the perfect Tevinter, a shining figure with a cutting edge who was here as your ally, but you certainly didn’t want to get too close to. Most of the people in Haven were fucking terrified of him, and it was like he couldn’t decide if he liked it or not.

He certainly moved with his staff in a confident way, _strode_ with the slightest movement of his hips that made the hems of his robes sway as he moved. He looked like a force of nature when he moved with that kind of purpose, and that was without even factoring the sickly-sweet energy he left on the air around him as he moved, the tell-tale sign of a necromantic energy field. What it was about necromancers and never turning their shit _off_, Iron Bull didn’t know, but Pavus fit the bill: you couldn’t stand anywhere near him without feeling the flicker of that purple strain on your skin, making the hair stand on age, making you fucking _shiver_ like you were still drinking from your Tama’s tit.

But there were moments, the Iron Bull noticed, when Pavus looked… uncertain. His confident mask slipped, sometimes, when people flinched away from him, especially kids, when they looked at him and then ran away, when he hadn’t actually been doing anything to be frightened of, except existing as a Vint mage, which was pretty fucking terrifying in itself.

He talked to the Inquisitor, sure.

But other than that, he didn’t actually seem to talk to anybody, much. He squirrelled himself away in his bed when he wasn’t actually out in the field, read whatever books he could get, even took his meals alone if he could… Until he didn’t. Bull kept an eye on him, and he noticed when Pavus began speaking – first with uncertainty radiating out from underneath his brash pretending, and then with more genuine confidence and curiosity – with Solas. He sniped playfully with Vivienne, two nobles fussing about clothes and witty remarks and nastiness like all of them were weapons in their own right. He complimented Varric’s chest hair, and Varric complimented his moustache, and next Bull knew it, the two of them were sharing a bottle of whiskey and giggling together over a passage of some Free Marcher book he’d never heard of.

It never lasted.

It was like Pavus took down his walls for a conversation, relaxed marginally, and then built them rapidly up again, because he was stiff back in camp, when they weren’t in the field together, or when he was with someone one-on-one.

It was the one-on-one thing that made Bull take pause. Pavus tended to engage one person in conversation at a time, like he was scared of joining a group conversation unless he could treat the people involved like they were his audience, like people scared him. He didn’t look scared, when he moved around, didn’t look frightened, and yet…

“Well, if it isn’t the Vint not-magister if you please!” Bull called when he saw Pavus step down from Haven’s main hold, and Pavus turned to regard him. For just a second, he looked _upset_, but then came the pretty Tevinter confidence, the ease. All fake, huh?

“You know, you watch me so focusedly with your singular eye,” he said. “Imagine how much more concentratedly you might examine me with no eyes at all!”

“What, wanna burn off some energy, big guy?” Bull asked when Pavus took a few steps closer, his expression guarded. Pavus’s body was a little stiff as he turned to meet Bull’s eye, the stiffness of a guy carefully suppressing a flinch at a sudden noise, and he looked at the Iron Bull seriously. His gaze flickered past Bull, too, over the tent – looking for Krem, looking for the other Chargers. “Got space in the tent.”

Bull leered at him. Pavus liked men, that much was clear – he liked big men, too, liked rough men with hair and shields and muscles. Oh, he watched Cullen, sure, but he watched the templars, too, watched Blackwall, even. The Altus drew up his shoulders slightly, raising his chin. His pretty eyes narrowed, but it only made the grey-brown irises catch the glint of the Rift above their heads, making it look for a second like the green was pouring out of Pavus’ own eyes.

“Rumours of the debauchery in the Magisterium have become most exaggerated, I fear,” he said, and there was the _slightest_ quaver in his voice – he was scared of the Iron Bull. He didn’t want to admit it, no, because admitting fear, that was stupid, but he was scared, scared of how big he was, how beastly… Or maybe just how _different_. “Bestiality goes well beyond even my darkest proclivities, dear man.”

“I meant a spar,” the Iron Bull said, his hands on his hips, his eyebrows raised.

Pavus actually _faltered_, his lips parting, his eyes widening a little – it was one thing to be impolite when you meant to be, but another when you were impolite for no reason. Sure, there _was_ a reason, and Bull was just fucking with the Vint, but if it worked, it worked.

“But you know, if you think a little fight is always gonna end in me _fucking_ you, I guess I should believe you.”

Pavus scowled. “Curious,” he murmured, “that the Inquisitor should invite one of _your_ ilk amongst his people – and no less, a self-confessed spy!”

“Funny that he’d pick out a Vint mage, too,” the Bull replied, taking a slow step forward, and Pavus stood his ground, but his gaze flickered down to Bull’s feet, then back up to his thighs, his belly, his chest. The gaze lingered just a millisecond longer than it needed to on certain parts, and that told Bull all he needed to know. “But I trust him. Even if I don’t trust _you_.”

“There aren’t many who would invite a man they don’t trust to spar,” Pavus said softly, and he smiled in the prettiest way Bull had never seen on a Vint. There was something in that smile that made his eyes light up and his cheeks _glow_, something that made Bull’s mouth dry and his cock give an interested twitch – it was probably the knife edge in it. “Not with half a brain in their heads, anyway.”

“Maybe I’m just interested to put a Vint like you in the dirt,” the Bull said, taking another step closer, and now Pavus stiffened, his grip tightening on his staff. He wasn’t imagining it – there was a slight dilation to Pavus’ pupils that wasn’t just about fear. There was more in it, fear mixed with want, with the forbidden, the taboo, with the big beast and his rippling muscles and his horns. “Polish that thing nightly, do ya?”

“I shan’t hold back with you, you know,” Pavus said softly. “If you wish to test your mettle against me, Bull, I shall allow you to, but I won’t tiptoe for your sake.”

“Tiptoe? Around _me_?” Bull laughed, the sound a barking thump on the air. It’d be useful, to fuck Pavus. He was here gathering info on the Inquisition, but Pavus knew about the Magisterium, even if he wasn’t a magister – what would he let slip, if Bull gave him what he _really_ wanted, bent him over and fucked him ‘til he cried, scratch that itch that Daddy left when he didn’t buy Pavus a pony for his seventh birthday, or whatever the fuck his deal was? It’d look good, for command. He’d been getting a little too into the Inquisition, for his own sake, for the Chargers’ sake, as much as the Qun’s, but if he could send back info on Tevinter… “This is an invitiation, _Altus_ Pavus,” Bull said lowly. “Little plausible deniability for wanting the monster from Par Vollen to blow your back out.”

“Is it?” Pavus asked softly, his voice quavering slightly – with want or indignation, it wasn’t exactly easy to tell, but there was probably a little crossover between both. “I thought it was an invitation to leave you in the dust.”

“Ooh, the _dust_?” Bull asked softly. “That where you want me, big guy, on my back? That how your Magister friend used to leave _you_?”

Oh, there it was. Pavus’ whole demeanour changed, _burned _with intent, and Bull had to suppress the urge to cheer.

“Fetch your axe,” Pavus whispered. “If you want to choose folly.”

Bull grinned.

He didn’t like magic. He’d rather not actually spar at all with Pavus, but when he had the guy on his back, he’d see where the fake confidence went to. He’d watched Pavus fight – the guy left himself open too often, moved too fast, overtaxed himself… He was a necromancer, but he only ever used the necromancy to bolster his mana a little, so Dalish said…

Bull picked up his axe, and they stepped a little bit away from the path.

“You want to spar?” Pavus asked, smiling sweetly. “Let us spar.”

He threw himself into it just like Bull knew he would, throwing off all these flashy spells like he was just _waiting_ for applause, as he always did, and Bull dodged neatly and cleverly, getting a little closer every time, ready to drop his axe as soon as he could grab the mage and shove him in the dirt. The flashes hurt his eye, but he didn’t let himself flinch away, just waited for the chink in Pavus’ defences—

Yeah. Left himself open on the lefthand side, _always_ did that, even in the field, fucking dumbass Vint with no military training—

Bull choked.

Pavus had turned to face him, and Bull was hovering a foot off the ground. The magic slid sticky over his skin like tree sap, uncomfortable, tugging at the hairs as it roved right over his skin, and it was _hot_, hot and tingling. It closed around his throat like a fist, squeezing, and Bull couldn’t even struggle, he was caught fast in the stuff. The axe dropped onto the ground.

“You know,” Pavus said softly, “one of the things we’re taught in the Magisterium, the Iron Bull, is that appearance is _everything_. And do you know what one does when a _Qunari spy_ is watching him at every available moment, scouring him for weaknesses? One puts on a show!” The anger in his voice was palpable, and he _shouted_ when he spat out the words.

Okay, this was Bull’s bad. He misjudged this _maybe_ a little.

“Boss!” shouted Krem, running forward, and Pavus’ hand moved so fast Bull could barely see it: he backhanded Krem _hard_ across the cheek, an orange glow running over the hand as he did so, and he didn’t even look away from Bull as Krem hit the ground _hard_.

“Do you want to see if I can take them all?” Pavus asked softly, deliberately, taking a few steps closer. Bull felt like he was going to burst into flames, he was trying so hard to fucking move, couldn’t even do more than twitch his damned fingers. Krem was laid out on the floor and he wasn’t moving, and Bull couldn’t look away from him until Pavus was right in front of him. “Stitches won’t be too difficult,” Pavus said in a voice like warm honey. “Grim, well, he won’t difficult at all – and Skinner, goodness, what a joke! Rocky might be a bit of trouble, but not too much. I think the only one that might give me the slightest bit of difficulty is Dalish, but let us be honest with one another, she so often loses sight of defensive capabilities if you stoke her temper a bit, doesn’t she? Will this situation merit that useful fury of hers?”

Bull dropped hard on the ground, still on his feet, but his arms were still stuck at his sides, his feet rooted to the spot – and, stupid, smart Vint, his head felt like it was pinned in place so he couldn’t even headbutt the Vint bastard.

Pavus’ hand touched Bull’s chest. Koslun’s balls, he was pretty when he smiled.

“E-aarvaarad_?”_ he asked, with an almost perfect accent. “Bas-issqun, bas-saarebas issqun?” My keeper, are you? Master of the _bas_, master of the bas-saarebas? “Do _forgive_ me, Dathras, but one _has_ to laugh.”

He shoved Bull hard in the chest, and there was magic in the thrust: Bull was thrown back into the snow and he slid on the path, choking, massaging his throat. Pavus was already walking away, out amidst the sparring troops – no doubt finding Cullen.

“Krem!” Bull said hoarsely. “You okay?”

Krem cursed in Tevinter, sitting up from the snow, and he touched the side of his cheek. There was no mark there, not even a slight pinking from the blow, and Bull forced himself to his feet, coming over to check him out.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Me being a dumbass,” Bull muttered. “Guess I didn’t have the measure of that Vint bastard I thought I did. You okay?”

“He didn’t actually hit me,” Krem muttered. “Just looked like he did: the magic threw me down. Cunt.”

\--

Bull went to find Pavus, the next morning. He felt… fucking _stupid_. Guy had obviously picked up enough about the Chargers, and he knew enough Qunlat to bitch in it – knew enough to call Bull a pig. And— Was he faking the weakness to his left side? Just for Bull to go for the shot?

“Where’s the Vint?” he asked.

Solas glanced up from his tea, which he was sipping at in a mild, distasteful way, as though he didn’t like it.

“I am curious, the Iron Bull,” he said delicately. “I don’t know that there’s anyone in the compound that can upset Altus Pavus as you can.” Solas stood, though, and nodded his head, opening up the little house that they and a few of the other mages were bedding up in. Pavus was laid on the far side of the room, on his side, facing the wall.

He looked small. Arms crossed over his chest, legs curled up toward it, breathing slow and even.

Bull stared at him for a long, long moment.

He stepped into the room, bowing his head so that his horns didn’t scrape the doorframe, and he came closer, closer. The Vint didn’t even pretend to be asleep, curled up in his little ball, his eyes on the wooden panels.

“I do apologise,” Pavus said in a very small voice. Not a shy one: it was firm, clear. Just very quiet. “That was most ungentlemanly of me.”

He looked _young_, like this. He wasn’t that much younger than Bull, only five or six years younger than him, at the very most – he was at least in his late twenties, if not thirty. But like this, he looked small and young and _vulnerable_, like he’d be easy for Bull to break into a few dozen pieces.

“You don’t touch my people,” Bull said lowly.

Pavus gave a tiny nod of his head. His face was writ with shame. Bull hated how _uncomfortable_ it made him feel, his gut twisting.

“Where’d you learn Qunlat?”

“Qunari raiders.”

“When’d you talk to Qunari raiders?”

“When they _raided_ us.”

The Iron Bull hadn’t lost his patience, just yet, but he decided to pretend that he had: he grabbed Pavus by the hair and dragged him up off the bed, awkwardly on his knees with Bull’s grip so tight he cried out in pain, but he didn’t try to shove off his hands, his grip. Bull and Pavus were nose to nose, and Bull could smell all his pretty, la-di-dah cologne, could smell the peppermint wash he used on his teeth, the mousse in his hair. Pavus was all but limp in Bull’s grip.

“What, no more insults?” Bull asked.

“If you’re going to hit me, hit me,” Pavus muttered. “But then, if you would, _please_ leave me be.” 

Bull frowned slightly, loosening his grip and letting Pavus down on his knees a little. Pavus looked waxen-faced and _sad_, and he wouldn’t meet Bull’s gaze, instead focusing somewhere in the realm of his nose, his mouth.

“Really crossed a line with what I said about Alexius, huh?” Bull asked quietly, and Pavus looked up and into his eye. “Won’t do it again.”

“Please leave me be.”

“Tell you what,” Bull said, letting Pavus drop down onto his bed. “You and I, we pretend this didn’t happen. Start over.”

Pavus said nothing, and Bull didn’t push his luck with it, just turned around, stepped out of the cabin. At the door, he saw that Dorian was lying down again, facing the wall once more.

\--

The next time he saw the mage, he put out his hand to shake, said, “They call me _the_ Iron Bull. What should I call you? Or is pretty Vint mage hiding a bomb under his robes gonna have to do? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya, it’s a mouthful.”

“Oh, I didn’t know Qunari knew the names of _spells_,” Pavus purred, after only a second’s breathless pause, staring up at Bull like he was made of something magical, like he was carved out of gold and put up in Minrathous town square. “But it’s called _Walking_ Bomb, my beastly friend. That makes _me_ the explosive.”

“I meant your ass,” Bull said, letting some of his genuine discomfort with that particular sentence show through, and Pavus laughed, but he took Bull’s hand, shook it. Bull wouldn’t make the same mistakes, this time, would be a little subtler, wouldn’t run in so fast, so eager. He could probably get the mage into his bed, could get the info out of him – there was no need to rush.

“Altus Pavus,” he said. “But _you_ might call me Dorian. Three syllables is easier to remember than four for you, no?”

“Might struggle with it,” Bull said, grinning and leaning in a little, just to see Dorian shiver. “We’ll see.”

“What the fuck are you two _doing_?” asked the Inquisitor, looking between them like they’d both gone crazy.

“Making friends,” Bull said.

“Aiding international relations,” Dorian said.

“Right,” the Inquisitor muttered, and turned to talking with Solas.

“Mindless beast of burden,” Dorian muttered when he looked back to Bull.

“Pretty Vint with a _pretty_ smile,” Bull replied, saccharinely sweet, and he didn’t think he imagined the slight colouring to Dorian’s cheeks as he shoved Bull’s hand away.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to hit up [my ask on Tumblr,](http://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/ask) to talk about DA in general, and definitely to recommend blogs to follow! I am open for requests (for Origins, II, and Inq). I also run a no-drama Dragon Age Discord, which [you can join here.](https://discordapp.com/invite/ttgP5v8) Please comment if you can!


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